Thanks to all of your well wishes and a healthy dose of antibiotics, I am now back to 98.6! I have conquered bronchitis/pneumonia (the doctor wasn't really sure which it was, he didn't even know if it was bacterial or viral, he was very vague… I don't even know :p). So thanks for your patience with my whining and strange sickness writing and also, thanks loads for all of your reviews!

Big thank yous to: puretorture27, Tipear, bookworm0902, dianaj2w, Guest, Kim CC, and another Guest (Molly dear, thanks for the review, I appreciate it. I still don't know why you call me James, I have told you multiple times to call me Jim!)

Anyways, important announcement! PLEASE READ THIS... Unfortunately, this story is drawing to a close everyone. Oh no! There is one more chapter after this one, and it is an epilogue. BUT if you have read any of my past A/Ns, you'll know there is a sequel in the works right now, Unburied. Well, this is more of a prequel to Unburied than Unburied being the sequel, but anyways, that's not the point. The point is, Unburied has a high chance of being rated M for language and maybe maybe violence. If any of you have problems with this, I will take into consideration toning the plans down and rating it T. But that's only if I get enough feedback vetoing the M rating. It wouldn't be anything too graphic, but I'm just warning you. :) So, onwards to the story! P.S. This is not betaed, excuse mistakes please!

Chapter 9

Doctor John Hamish Watson sat in his cozy chair opposite of Sherlock's with his head braced in his hand. His free hand grasped the paperback he was reading, Walden by Henry David Thoreau, and occasionally the quiet man would swap which hand was bracing his head to prevent stiffness. He had read the same passage over and over, and honestly, the story was boring, but it was the only book in the flat he hadn't read at one point or another. He could see why. It wasn't his type of book at all.

He contemplated calling Sherlock to inquire how the case was going, but he really didn't fancy faking all of the coughs that were supposed to be racking his body, so he decided not to. Besides, he already knew how the case was going. It was going as it always went, twisted and quirky and probably bloody. He looked at his watch. Sherlock had been gone for five hours, definitely bloody then. Sighing, he cast aside the book (not much of a loss there) and got up from the relative comfort of his armchair to grab the first aid kit. Sherlock wouldn't let anyone but John patch him up, claiming 'why have some imbecile stitch me up if I have my own competent doctor?' That was pretty pretentious of him, but John let him say it partially because it made him feel warm inside, and partially because if he didn't patch Sherlock up, then he wouldn't get aid at all. And that lead to blood on the carpet and a very pissed off Mrs. Hudson. No, it was just easier to go with it.

He was about to get the first aid kit from under his sink ("How domestic," Mycroft had sneered after a particularly nasty argument between a bloody Sherlock and a worried brother. "I absolutely refuse to go to the hospital, now PISS OFF!" Sherlock had bellowed in an uncharacteristic show of irritation) but he was halted in his tracks when his phone pinged a new text. Groaning with irritation he backtracked back into the sitting area to retrieve his phone.

~Blocked Number~

John made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat. There were three possible people this could be. Mycroft was the most probable. The man texted him and called him all the time under the guise of inquiring about Sherlock's health, but John knew the man had the flat bugged seven ways to Sunday. John speculated in actuality he was trying to get proof that he was the assassin he had gotten his hands on all those years ago. That's unnerving. John still had nightmares about his session at Baskervilles ("John, John wake up! You're having a nightmare." John opened his eyes, to see a concerned Sherlock standing over his bed. He took a deep breath to dispel the image of the needles from his head, and Sherlock shifted awkwardly. "Do you… want to tell me what… it was about?" This was uncharted territory between them; Sherlock was trying to reach out, trying to comfort John. John Hamish Watson, the curiosity who made the sociopath care. He let out a shaky breath and lied, "Just another Afghanistan nightmare, nothing unusual." Sherlock nodded sympathetically).

Another person it could possibly be is Irene Adler, who had taken an unhealthy interest in him after meeting him alone in the warehouse (John strode confidently into the empty room. "Irene, I know you're here." She stepped gracefully out of the shadows, a look of bewilderment on her features. "John, how did you-" John cut her off, not wanting to tell her that he knew she had been alive this whole time and was just waiting for her to call him. "Unimportant. You need to tell Sherlock that you're still alive. He's driving me crazy with all of his pining." "No." she said petulantly. "He has my cell phone, which belongs to me, I want it…" "The pass code is "Sher-locked. Would you two just have sex already?"). While she texted Sherlock nonsense about having dinner, she constantly harassed John into giving her more background about himself. How irritating.

The third, and by far most unpleasant option was Moriarty himself, who had also taken a frightening interest in him. But unfortunately, Moriarty had gotten the closest in terms of his… past profession out of anyone. And that pissed him off, it truly did. So, now poor 'ordinary' John Watson had four crazy geniuses stalking him, if you included Sherlock. But Sherlock, bless his soul, was the only one who had permission to. It was almost like the old days. Almost.

Although he contemplated not opening it, his curiosity got the better of him, and he clicked 'view message' hesitantly.

'Johnny! What are you doing right now? –JM'

Damn. It was Moriarty. John really would have preferred it to be Irene. He put the phone down and didn't answer. He wasn't going to play Moriarty's game. He got up and went to get the first aid kit. When he came back, he had three new texts.

'Hello? Johnny? –JM'

'Is that even your real name? –JM'

'Hello? –JM'

John grit his teeth in irritation. The nerve of some people. At the very least, could Moriarty act a bit… intimidating or frightening? It was creepy how it seemed the Irishman was trying to get buddy buddy with him.

'Sod off.' He typed back quickly. He pressed send and immediately regretted it when another text was bounced back.

'Oh splendid! I was beginning to worry you didn't know how to text. –JM'

John decided that it wouldn't be wise to have a text conversation with a crazy psychopath. It would probably get people killed or something. John rolled his eyes.

'Rude. –JM' He could practically see the outrageous pout of Moriarty's face, quickly replaced by a smirk.

'Why don't you run along and play with Sherlock?' He typed this one out slowly, weighing his words carefully. While he didn't like Moriarty's obsession with Sherlock very much either, it was a lot safer for all parties involved.

'Because, he's boring. –JM'

'He wasn't boring a couple months ago.'

'I beat him, Johnny Boy. Back at the pool, he was completely at my mercy. I have already won. And now I'm bored again. –JM'

'It's a lot less dangerous to play with him. You're out of your league.'

'I think you underestimate me, Dr. Watson :( -JM'

'You haven't given me any reason not to.'

'I can change that easily. Don't think I don't know anything about you. –JM'

'Who's your source?'

There was a long pause.

'A magician never reveals his secrets. –JM'

'It was Houdini wasn't it.' He should have killed the kid when he blew his shoulder to hell. Now he was in a world of trouble.

'You got me. He told me not to tell… -JM'

'He shouldn't have trusted you, obviously.'

'You don't think I'm trustworthy? I'm wounded! –JM'

'Listen. It's a lot safer for all of us if you go away.'

'Why? –JM'

'I'll give you three guesses.'

'Mycroft. –JM'

'Well done. Now grow up and leave me alone.'

'Once a killer, always a killer. –JM'

'I'm retired.'

'We'll see about that. Goodnight, Dr. Watson. Knock Knock… -JM'

There was a knock at the door and John nearly dropped the phone.

"Come in," he called, trying to keep the fatigue out of his voice. Mrs. Hudson peeked in.

"Sherlock called and said he won't be home until tomorrow."

"Thank you Mrs. Hudson," John sent the pleasant woman a genuine smile. Mrs. Hudson smiled back.

"Goodnight."

And the door shut behind her. John listened to her retreating footsteps and turned back to his phone. He read over the texts and groaned. How was he baited into talking with him? He told himself he wasn't going to talk to the psychopath, and here he was having a fireside chat with him. What the hell was wrong with him?

0o0o0o0o

Jim Moriarty shut his phone off, marveling at his dialogue with John. He wasn't expecting to have an actual conversation; he just thought he would harass him a bit. Johnny had surprised him, again, and Jim wasn't sure if he was excited or peeved. He settled for both.

One thing was for sure… John Watson was scared of Mycroft Holmes. Should he be too? He knew if he managed to get into Mycroft's custody he would be tortured, but it wouldn't be too extensive because he was somewhat of a 'civilian'. Johnny hadn't been protected by that title. So, what had to have happened to him to have him bury all of his instincts and weapons under a dopey ordinary facade? Something horrible.

He also had to do something about Sherlock. He had been fun for a while, but Jim hadn't been lying when he had said he had already won. He had. He had outsmarted Sherlock and had him at his mercy. Even if he showed leniency, doesn't mean he didn't win. It just meant Sherlock didn't die. Somehow, that didn't register in Sherlock's (admittedly) complicated hard drive. It was over. Jim just had to tie things up in a nice little bow to convince Sherlock it was. He also had to get him out of the way so he could have time to finally play with John without Sherlock getting suspicious and poking about.

Thus, Richard Brook was born.

Hello! This was the final chapter (besides epilogue) of this prequel. One more chapter, then keep an eye out for the next installment. This, by the way, is set during ASiB, before HoB. Get my drift? Jim has yet to be captured and interrogated by Mycroft. The epilogue will take place during Reichenbach, and Unburied is post-Reichenbach. I hope you've all enjoyed this story :)

Thanks for all the story alerts, favorites and reviews. Drop a comment; I love to hear from my readers! Remember, I want feedback on Unburied rating… thinking of making it M, but if there are too many objections I will make it T.

Love, Expecto-Prongs